Home for Christmas
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Loose tag for 7.10, Death's Door. After everything, Christmas still comes. A little trip through Dean's head as they deal with their tragedy.


_**I won't believe Bobby is dead until they come straight out and tell me he is. So, in that spirit, I offer this as a small holiday gift.**_

**I'll Be Home for Christmas**

…_chestnuts roasting on an open fire…_

… _bell, jingle bellrock. Jingle Bell's sing and…_

… _got run over by a reindeer, walking home from…_

"Aw, give me a break!"

Dean Winchester leaned forward and twisted the knob, silencing the cars radio.

"Freaking Christmas music," he griped. Of course, seeing as it was 11:48 p.m. Christmas Eve, he shouldn't really be surprised that all he could find on any station was depressing Christmas carols and bad versions of cheesy holiday tunes.

Dean rolled his shoulder in a futile attempt to relieve the ache in his neck. Driving ten hours straight was not good for you no matter what kind of shape you were in, and, he had to admit, he wasn't exactly in top form. They had spent the better part of a week in Hammonton, in and out of the hospital that Bobby lie comatose in, hoping for something – anything – to hang their hopes on.

He refused to give up on the man who had become like a father to him. Bobby had never once given up on them. Through the deal, the apocalypse and even through this whole Leviathon crapfest, Bobby had been there, giving advice when needed, lending a hand, doling out wisdom and pulling answers out of… god knows where. No. It didn't matter what the doctors said. It didn't matter what Sam believed. Dean wasn't giving up on Bobby. Not until there was no hope at all..

"_We were able to extract the bullet, but I'm afraid there was quite a bit of damage." _

_Sam exchanged a look with his brother then returned his attention back to the doctor. "What does that mean exactly?"_

_The doctor took a deep breath and gave them both a sympathetic look. "I'm afraid it means that your uncle is in a coma. One I doubt he will wake up from. I'm sorry, I wish I had better news, but the bullet was lodged deep into his memory center. There was too much tissue damage."_

"_You're saying he's going to die?"_

_The doctor nodded slowly. "It's very likely. While that area of the brain doesn't control body or motor functions, there was enough tissue damage that even if he were to regain consciousness,, he wouldn't remember much of anything. He would probably, quite literally be an empty slate – and that's the positive prognosis."_

"_So he could survive?"_

_The doctor looked at Dean and shook his head. "There is a slim chance, but I don't believe so, no. I'm sorry. I know this is hard. I don't want to give you false hope."_

The doctor had suggested they say their goodbyes, but Dean hadn't been able to. One look at Bobby's slack face and he'd shut down, unable to say anything.

They'd lost so much – too much. How could they face losing Bobby?

Dean had grasped onto the small hope the doctor had given them. Bobby was in a coma, but he was still alive. His heart was still beating and Dean wasn't going to count the old coot out just yet. He would get better. Stranger things had happened. Especially in their world.

"_Dean, I don't want to believe Bobby is going to die any more than you do, but we have to face reality here."_

"_Reality? Are you serious?" Dean had tried to hold his anger at the situation in check, but Sam's constant pressure to accept what the doctors were saying had begun to eat at his control. "You just want to give up on him? Throw in the towel?"_

"_No. I don't want to." Sam quickly countered, his own emotions beginning to get the better of him. "But I'm not going to ignore what they told us."_

"_There's still a chance he could be okay."_

"_A very slim chance, Dean. And I'm not saying we should ignore that. I'm just saying we have to prepare ourselves for…"_

"_For what, Sam? The inevitable?"_

"_Yes."_

_Dean shook his head. "I don't believe you, man. Bobby didn't give up on you. After Lillith, Ruby, hell, even after your soulless self tried to kill him, he never gave up on you."_

"_Dean…"_

"_And now you're gonna write him off because some idiot doctor says so?"_

_Sam took a deep breath and released it through his nose. "Dean, you heard the man. Even if he does survive – and that's a huge if – he won't even be Bobby anymore. He'd be nothing more than an empty shell."_

"_You don't know that."_

_Sam sighed. "I know how you feel about him, Dean. I love him, too. But –"_

"_But nothing, Sam. I don't care if he wakes up as Bobby or as John Doe or friggin' Homer Simpson. If he doesn't remember he doesn't remember. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. All I know is that he's still fighting – he hasn't given up and neither are we. " _

Sam hadn't exactly agreed, but he'd stopped trying to get Dean to face his so-called reality. The days had started to drag as they hung around the hospital, waiting for a sign. Bobby was hanging in there, still and pale, but alive.

The lady sheriff from South Dakota had shown up after calling Bobby's phone and getting Dean instead. Her badge had helped tremendously with the local cops and their inquiry into the incident. She had also managed to get security to keep an eye out for the black limo Dick Roman had pulled up in. Dean hadn't seen the smug bastard since their initial encounter outside the hospital, but he had no illusion that the monster had given up. With Sheriff Mills there to provide an extra set of eyes, Bobby was as secure as they could make him.

It was obvious the lady sheriff had a thing for Bobby. Sam had quickly deduced that she was probably the woman that had been at the cabin when they'd called from jail in Ankeny, Iowa. She didn't seem surprised they'd explained what really happened but her professional calm didn't quite mask her personal concern.

Dean had been pleased to see that concern. If anyone deserved a little happiness, it was Bobby. Maybe if he woke up – when he woke up – Jodie Mills would be the best person to help him. From what Dean could see, she truly wanted him to pull through.

"_How are you and Sam doing?"_

_Dean glanced over at the Sheriff with surprise. Sam had left moments ago to stretch his legs and find some drinkable coffee, leaving the two of them sitting side by side outside the ICU. "Uh, we're fine. I guess."_

_Jodie chuffed a laugh. "And Bobby told me you were a good liar." _

_Dean gave a soft laugh in response. "Yeah. I guess… I guess we're kind of in limbo." He let his eyes drift off in the direction his brother had taken. "Sam's trying to be realistic. Whatever the hell that means. After everything… I don't think he can lose anything else."_

_Jodie nodded slowly, her eyes on the young man's profile. "And what about you?"_

"_Me?" He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, his eyes tracking to the glassed in ICU bay Bobby lay inside. "I'm… not good."_

_He had no idea why he had admitted that to the woman since she was little more than a stranger to him. Maybe it was because she cared about Bobby. Maybe it was because he needed to say it to someone._

"_I once asked Bobby why he worried about you two so much." At Dean's look of surprise, she shrugged, a grin tugging the side of her mouth up. "I just thought it was strange that he was constantly checking up on two grown men who seemed perfectly capable of handling all this…" she waved a hand in front of her. '… stuff themselves." She turned back toward Dean. "You know what he said?"_

_Dean simply shook his head, not knowing what to expect._

"_He said, 'You always worry about your kids'." She smiled a genuine, warm smile at the memory. "That's how he thinks of you and Sam. As his own kids."_

_Dean swallowed hard, blinking suddenly at the sting behind his eyes. "Family doesn't end with blood." He whispered._

That was a two weeks ago. Jodie had taken a leave of absence from her job, taking charge of Bobby's care and giving the Winchesters a much-needed avenue of escape. When a simple vengeful spirit case had come up in a nearby town, she had encouraged them to take care of it. Telling them it would do them good to get away for just a little while. She'd promised to call if anything changed and they hadn't quite known how to thank her for running interference with everyone from the cops to the hospital staff.

They'd taken her up on her offer, doing an easy salt and burn before heading back to the hospital. The job had given both of them a way to let out some of their worry and frustration and they returned a little more in control.

Unfortunately, there had been no change in Bobby's condition. Dean sat by his bedside for his allotted time, his hope beginning to wane as the minutes, hours, days ticked by.

Jodie had been forced to return to South Dakota to clear up some cases and arrange for a substitute, but she'd promised to return as soon as possible. They were considering moving Bobby to a facility closer to Sioux Falls so that she could keep an eye on him and they had all agreed to speak with the doctors when she returned. Of course with Dean listed as his next of kin, the decision would ultimately be his, but both he and Sam had quickly begun to rely on Jodie Mills' input as a voice of reason between them.

As he sat by Bobby's bedside, listening to the monitors hum and chirp, he came to a decision. Bobby had begged him to find a reason to get back into the fight. Well, his reason was lying right in front of him. The monsters had made a mistake by going after his family. If they wanted a fight, that's exactly what they were going to get.

"_Wait, you're going to do what?" Sam had placed a giant hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping him from heading toward the doors._

"_I told you. I'm going to get the car."_

_Sam's hands flapped in the air, a gesture that always reminded Dean of a huge, gawky bird. "Are you nuts?"_

"_Is that a real question?"_

"_Dean, the Leviathons are looking for that car. Remember what Bobby said? When everyone is out to get you, being paranoid is just smart?"_

"_Sam, they already know where we are. If they wanted us, they could've come at us when are defenses were down." He waited for his brother to acknowledge the validity of the statement._

"_Okay, that's true. But –"_

"_But nothing," Dean continued. "I'm done hiding from these bastards. That smug… Dick… shot Bobby, Sam. He put a bullet in his head and then sat outside grinning about it. They think they're invincible. They think they can take over the world without a fight."_

"_They are invincible, Dean." Sam reminded him. "We have no idea how to kill them."_

_Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe, but we know how to slow them down. I say let's take Dick down. If we can' kill him, we borax his ass, shop off his head and pack it away in a nice lock-box in the Impala's trunk. That way I can wipe that smug smile off his face every single day."_

"_Dean, I don't think –"_

"_Look, Sam. Dick Roman is the head of this monster mash, right? We cut off the head, it'll take them time to regroup. Give us time to figure things out."_

It had taken some convincing, but Sam had finally agreed that sitting around waiting was only allowing the bastards to implement their plan – whatever the hell that was – unheeded. And then there were the numbers Bobby had written on Sam's hand. They had no idea what they were supposed to mean, but it gave Sam a much needed distraction to focus on and, while his little brother was getting his geek on, it gave Dean the opportunity to retrieve his car from Frank Devereaux' place.

The conspiracy junkie had been sad to hear about Bobby, but had assured Dean that if anyone could pull through, it was Bobby Singer.

Dean had agreed, promising to let the man know if Bobby's condition changed. Frank had told him not to bother, he'd be able to monitor the situation himself and Dean had simply taken the man at his word.

Now, headed back to New Jersey behind the wheel of the Impala, the familiar growl of the engine soothing his nerves, he found himself feeling a little less stressed, a little more in control. He didn't know if it was the car or the fact that they finally had a plan – if it could be called that. All he knew is that he was beginning to feel a little more like himself.

He leaned forward and hesitantly turned on the radio, sitting back as the slow melody filled the silent car.

_I'll be home for Christmas. You can count on me…_

Home. He often wondered what exactly that meant. Was it just a place where you felt you belonged? They'd never really had a home in the normal sense of the word, but they'd never been homeless. Whether it was the Impala, Bobby's house or just some cheap motel where both he and Sam were, he realized he'd always been home. As long as what was left of his family was okay, he'd always have a home.

His phone rang, pulling his attention from the road. One glance at the screen made his heart skip a beat.

"Sam?"

"Dean. Get back here fast."

**The End.**

**I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Happy Holidays everyone!**


End file.
